Sleep well my sweet angel. Because as you lay in peaceful slumber, and dream of a volcano spewing Legos, marshmallows, and monster trucks, I am waging a war against you. “What about the treaty?” you may ask. The one where your stuff is your stuff and I back down, well that’s now null and void. You see I found the dried up Play-Doh in the vent. “The sand?” You may ask. Yes, I found it in between my magazines. Thanks for that by the way. Sleep sound and keep dreaming of those marshmallows baby because if I step on it, it’s going to Goodwill. If it’s broken and can’t be fixed with the specific screwdriver in my hand, then it will go in the trash. If there are boogers wiped on it, I am burning it. If there are pieces missing, well it all may go missing, and if it makes a noise loud enough to be heard from the next room then I am putting it in a box marked, “For Your Kids”, so that you will one day know this insufferable torture.